


Les amis monstres

by aeolians



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeolians/pseuds/aeolians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les amis monstres. One of the leading activists groups for monster rights, is full of an eclectic group of monsters, creatures, and those who study magic. This is their stories, following members of Les amis monstres, their allies—both human and creature—and those that would see them fail (namely, Patron-Minette) as they struggle to fight for the rights of all, whether they be human or monsterkind.</p><p>More tags will be added as the series progresses! Each new chapter will be a new installment following a different character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les amis monstres

If you were to pass Montparnasse on the street, you would usually see him looking like a modern dandy in his fine clothes and his nose in the air. And if you could tear your gaze away from his good looks—the thing he prided himself on the most—you might notice an average, yet not unattractive, man with piercing dark eyes following him like a shadow or, occasionally, a woman whose features mirror those of the man. Whereas Montparnasse made eye contact with no one on the street as he passed, the man who followed him like a shadow—as well as the woman who occasionally followed him—looked at everyone as if assessing the area in case the need to protect Montparnasse arose.

Both the man and the woman who followed Montparnasse were known to few, and even fewer knew that they both answered to being called Claquesous.

Claquesous followed Montparnasse everywhere unless given orders to the contrary. If anyone who knew them thought that Montparnasse held Claquesous on a leash, they would be wrong; Claquesous stayed in the young man's presence willingly, and their partnership benefited both handsomely. Montparnasse had found that, over time, his need to sleep had dwindled and his body was able to sustain itself as long as he took care of himself. Now when he ate it wasn't from hunger, but more for show, or from habit, or sheer boredom. Claquesous had long ago noticed that the young man was fond of bright, perfect red apples, and suspected that Montparnasse ate them out of irony. Why else would such a sinful being as Montparnasse eat so many perfect apples despite rarely needing to eat? More than once Claquesous had watched the fresh juice run from the corner of the young man's mouth down to his chin, the young man's lips shining from the juice before a tongue slipped out and slowly licked his lips clean. More than once, Montparnasse was fully aware of Claquesous' attentions to his lips as he licked them clean.

More than once, Montparnasse eating an apple had led to Claquesous sharing his bed for the night.

One evening, Montparnasse prepared to go out for the night, shifting through the many racks in his closet for just the right item. Long ago ( _lifetimes_ ago, Montparnasse thought with a wry smirk), he had been a dandy in the truest sense. His suits then had been bright and heavily patterned. Brocade vests and jewel-toned silk cravats under velvet coats and silk top hats had been his go-to fashion choices, but the modern era was more subdued, the fashions less like that of a peacock than they had once been. The sharp cuts and slim-fitting clothes of the modern times suited Montparnasse well, both literally and aesthetically.

Having selected a grey button-up and slim-fit black pants, Montparnasse walked to the back wall of the closet where a thick piece of fabric hung on the wall. Pulling it back revealed an old, antique mirror whose aged surface did little to hid his grim reflection. Montparnassee looked upon himself with a cold indifference. Though his looks were his pride and joy, this mirror was the one reflective surface that brought him no joy in vanity—it merely showed him the harsh reality of himself.

When standing in front of that mirror, Montparnasse was the ugliest creature who had ever lived.

"You look as ugly as sin," Claquesous commented from the open doorway, a grin tugging on his face at the much-used joke.

Montparnasse rolled his eyes and began to undress in front of the mirror. Claquesous didn't turn away, but that had never bothered Montparnasse before.

"What will it be tonight?" Claquesous asked.

Montparnasse thought for a moment as he slid his pants off, naked save for his underwear.

"We need somewhere smaller. More intimate," he decided, neatly shrugging into his chosen shirt and beginning to do up the buttons. "Our last outing almost got you caught," he reminded Claquesous with a pointed look at Claquesous' reflection.

Claquesous chuckled softly before answering. "Nothing I couldn't have handled if you had let me."

"I know, but you had already had two. We didn't need an unplanned third to make things messy."

Claquesous shrugged and stayed silent as Montparnasse finished getting his clothes on. The young man took one last look at himself in the mirror after putting on a long black coat and black leather boots. He would never admit it aloud, not even to Claquesous, but Montparnasse always enjoyed watching himself put on clothes before that mirror. Watching himself cover up his reflection, knowing what lay just beneath his handsome looks while everyone else saw only harsh beauty, gave Montparnasse a thrill.

Montparnasse gave the twisted reflection a nod before covering it up once again. "Come, we've work to do."

—————

A quarter of an hour later found the pair standing across the street from a usually quiet pub that had only in recent months become the favorite meeting place of _Les amis monstres_ , a group of political activist students who rallied for the rights of monsters and their ilk. Montparnasse didn't think much of their cause—he knew it was a lost one from the start—but hated to admit to himself that their passion could certainly move the people.

That night the Café Musain was buzzing with activity as Enjolras and his like-minded activist friends moved around inside, making more noise than Montparnasse thought necessary.

"'More intimate' my ass," Claquesous muttered under his breath.

Montparnasse put his shoulders back as if preparing to face a firing squad. "Feel free to go elsewhere if you wish. Maybe you could find someone to have in an alley, see what I care," he said with a sniff, crossing the street without ever turning to look back if Claquesous had followed.

But Montparnasse already knew that Claquesous would follow at his heels, and he wasn't wrong.

Entering the Musain was something Montparnasse rarely did before it had become the favorite spot of _Les amis monstres_ , and now that they had taken it over a few nights a week it was somewhere he never set foot. So it was hardly surprising when the barkeep gave him a second look after his initial glance, this time taking in Claquesous behind him and standing straighter.

Montparnasse grinned to himself as he took a seat in the far back corner where the light didn't quite shine so bright. Claquesous sat across from Montparnasse and turned his chair some so that his back wouldn't be facing the room, allowing himself to see any threats before they were on top of them.

For all of Claquesous' faults, Montparnasse thought, at least his loyalty to him and tendencies to act as bodyguard were things that never faltered.

Montparnasse flicked his eyes over the patrons of bar. Quite a few of them kept attempting to discreetly look at them, and a few outright gawked. Montparnasse was used to this, and Claquesous never cared; Montparnasse was well aware of how his good looks must look against a man who was built like Claquesous, especially considering that the man's face possessed a strange allure and underlying threatening quality at the same time.

A few minutes after they arrived a waitress came down the stairs from the upper level with a smile and a tray full of empty glasses. She paused as soon as she spotted the pair in the corner, her step and her smile faltering for just a moment before she continued. Both Montparnasse and Claquesous had seen her moment of hesitation, and the corner of Montparnasse's mouth tugged upwards into a smirk.

The girl put the tray behind the bar before making her way to the back table, the grin gone but replaced with neither fear nor hate.

"Evening, boys," she said as she pulled out a pad of paper. "I'm Musichetta and I'll be your waitress tonight. You ready to order drinks?"

"I'll have a Necromancer, and he's not drinking."

The girl, Musichetta, rose an eyebrow and glanced over at Claquesous before continuing. "And will you be getting anything to eat with your drink?"

Montparnasse paused, a finger pressed to his lips as if in thought. "Tell me," he said, his voice sweet and low, "just what is going on upstairs?"

This made the waitress pause, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "A meeting."

"Oh, a meeting," Montparnasse purred. "What a meeting that must be. I've never heard of a group of businessmen holding a meeting above a pub, let alone at this late hour. Have you ever heard of such a thing, Claquesous?"

Claquesous shook his head, a hard, mirthless smile on his face.

"Me neither," Montparnasse continued, turning back to Musichetta. "If only every businessman could have meetings like that, hmm? In what sort of business are they employed?"

Musichetta was glaring at Montparnasse now, her arms crossed tightly and her brows furrowed. "They're students," she gritted out, "not businessmen."

"Students, hmm? Well, why didn't you say so! People my own age then. I should go up and see if I can join their little club. Or maybe," Montparnasse said as he stood, dropping his voice lower, "maybe they're not a club. Maybe they're full of revolutionary ideas. Political activists, perhaps?"

Montparnasse watched Musichetta's eye widen in realization before suddenly looking even angrier.

"Mm, yes, I thought as much. I'll just pop up, shall I? I'll be waiting for my drink upstairs. "Claquesous," Montparnasse said, turning toward him, "stay here. We don't want you scaring the children."

With one last grin towards the fuming Musichetta, Montparnasse headed upstairs.

—————

He stood at the top of the stairs for a few moments, taking everything before him in. Yes, this was certainly _Les amis monstres_ , there was no denying that. A dozen or so students were all talking at once in groups that made the space feel quite small. Montparnasse hovered in the shadows for a few moments before finally someone noticed him, standing up in recognition immediately. Others followed suit, and Montparnasse couldn't help but smirk at how silent the room became.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Montparnasse called out cheerfully, his voice almost echoing in the sudden stillness of the room. "Please, don't let my arrival stop your little club. What's the topic tonight? Perhaps another rally that'll make all the humans run indoors and lock themselves away?"

"Montparnasse," gritted their leader, Enjolras, as he stepped towards him. "What are you doing here?"

Montparnasse continued as if he hadn't heard Enjolras at all. "Or are we talking strategy?" He chuckled, closing the gap between them with a single step and leveling Enjolras with a knowing stare and an ever-present smirk. "Goodness knows you could use some strategy after your last tragedy of a protest."

A growl came from one of the other students. A warning.

"Montparnasse," Enjolras gritted out once again, sounding both angrier and more exasperated. "I won't ask you again."

"Good," Montparnasse cooed, patting the vampire before him on the cheek, "because that'll save me from having to ignore you." He slipped past where Enjolras stood, tense and rigid, before moving further into the room. By now all of the students were standing, and a few had moved to stand in front of the Pontmercy boy.

"Don't worry," Montparnasse chuckled darkly, "I'm not here to cause trouble—not this time, anyway. Your precious human-in-residence is safe."

"Then why _are_ you here, 'parnasse?"

That made Montparnasse finally pause in his tracks. Turning, he finally saw the one person he hadn't noticed immediately upon entering: Jean Prouvaire. Jehan stood directly behind him, only a few steps away from being able to touch him. Still favoring moving silently, Montparnasse noted. It was one of the few vampiric traits Jehan had embraced.

Montparnasse took Jehan in for a moment before meeting his gaze. It almost looked as if Jehan seemed hurt by Montparnasse showing up in a place that he shouldn't. _In a place where Jehan should be safe from seeing him_ , Montparnasse's brain supplied.

Montparnasse sniffed indignantly.

"Just thought I would come visit a local pub, have some dinner with a friend downstairs. You remember Claquesous, don't you, Jehan?" Jehan's eyes widened, and he glanced towards the stairs as if Claquesous may come for them at any moment.

Montparnasse laughed.

"I see that you do. Not to worry, he's promised to be on his best behavior tonight. He, shall we say, has already had his fill." Montparnasse let that sink in as he watched the realization dawn on Jehan's face before it turned to disgust, but not horror.

"No, I'm just here to have a good night and to endorse a local business. After all, what's life without surrounding yourself by people your own age?" Here the young man paused and turned away from Jehan to take in the rest of the people in the room. "Well, really I suppose only two of you are close to my age, aren't you? Ah well, two is better that none, hmm?"

"You should leave," one of them said, a young man with olive skin and glasses. One of Enjolras' lieutenant's, Montparnasse was sure. Combeferre, perhaps? But the other one, the one with the dark hair and easy manner—Courfeyrac?—was nowhere to be seen.

Montparnasse took in the faces around him and realized a few of them were starting to look furious, that even the drunk in the corner kept looking between Montparnasse and Enjolras as if waiting for a word from their leader. Just as he opened his mouth to take his leave, Musichetta came upstairs with a single drink in her hand, quickly shoving it into his hands.

"There's your damn drink. Now leave them alone."

"'chetta, no . . ."

Montparnasse looked between the boy who had spoken and the waitress. Another of the young men had put his hand on the shoulder of the one who had spoken, both sharing a look before turning back towards Montparnasse; one seemingly in concern for the waitress, one obviously ready to pounce if Montparnasse did anything to her.

"Very well. I'll go. I've seen all I needed to see here," Montparnasse said flippantly with a glance over the group once more, pausing briefly on both Jehan and the Pontmercy boy. Turning towards the stairs he saw that Enjolras had moved in his way once more.

"Pardon me, _Apollo_ ," Montparnasse spat out. Someone behind him, possibly the student in the corner who was nursing a beer, sputtered into his drink. "I'm afraid I need to take my leave, if I may."

Enjolras stared hard at Montparnasse, eyes locked as if in a silent battle before stepping aside. Enjolras had the distinct impression that if it had been a century and a half prior, Montparnasse would have cheekily tipped the brim of a top hat in his direction as he passed without another word.

—————

Downstairs Montparnasse took a swig of his drink before setting it on the table and walking out of the pub, leaving Claquesous to hastily put just enough money on the table to pay the bill before following him out. Both remained silent during the walk home, which Montparnasse walked at a brisk pace. It wasn't until they were once again inside that Claquesous spoke up.

"Successful evening?"

Montparnasse thought for a moment. "You could say that, I suppose."

"That waitress didn't cause too much trouble, did she?"

Montparnasse paused on the landing, turning to look at the demon who was the closest thing he had to a friend or equal. "Some. She might be more trouble than she's worth."

"She's definitely in with them."

"So it would seem," Montparnasse said with a sneer. "We'll have to keep an eye on this _Musichetta_. Tomorrow, I need you to find out more about her. Two in particular seemed ready to come to her aide. Even though they knew you were right downstairs, one of them seemed ready to spilt my skull over her."

Montparnasse brought his fingertips to his jawbone as if tenderly touching a bruise that wasn't there, as if the mere thought of his face being hit had damaged his eternally good looks.

Claquesous cleared his throat, and Montparnasse immediately recognized the tick.

"Out with it."

Claquesous gave Montparnasse a long, blank look before answering. "He was there, wasn't he."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. Claquesous knew Jehan was there, just as much as Montparnasse knew it was Jehan that Claquesous spoke of.

"What if he was? If he's decided to throw himself even further into that lost cause, so be it. It's nothing to me," Montparnasse finished with a haughty sniff as he turned around to continue his way up the stairs.

"But it does bother you that he chose to follow that vampire over you."

Montparnasse froze mid-step before turning slowly.

"Don't ever mention that to me again," he hissed between clenched teeth.

Turning his back to Claquesous, he made his way to his room and slammed the door behind him. He didn't care that Claquesous might think the door slamming is childish. He had said the one thing that would hurt Montparnasse and he knew it. That was, perhaps, Claquesous' biggest fault—not having any compassion of his own.

Storming into his wardrobe he tore the curtain away from the large antique mirror that was behind it. Montparnasse could see the anger bubbling over his reflections already contorted skin. Putting a hand to his jaw as he had on the stairs, he watched as the knarled, twisted fingers of his reflection did the same, prodding at the sagging, rotting skin of his reflection's face where his own flesh and blood fingers felt only smooth, flawless perfection.

His mind wandered, thinking back over the events of the evening. He should have expected Jehan to be there, yet somehow it hadn't occurred to him. Or, more likely, he just didn't want to consider seeing him again in the first place. And that Pontmercy boy, there was something about his deer-in-the-headlights look that Montparnasse found intriguing. If their little club had a weak spot, Montparnasse had a feeling that the Pontmercy boy was it. Enjolras, Montparnasse thought with a leer, seemed to think of them as indestructible in their good cause. Well, he'd just have to see about that.

Montparnasse returned his attention to the mirror and sighed, looking at the hollows of his eyes in the reflection. They were sunken back deep into his skull; he almost expected them to fall into the skull one of these days. What little hair his reflection had left was scraggly, twisted and grey. A long gash across his cheekbone marked where he had been cut deep with a knife once, but any trace of that on his real face had long since faded away. His eyes drifted down to two deep puncture marks on his reflection's gnarled neck, which seemed to still be leaking a bit of black congealed blood even after all these years. Montparnasse brought his hand to his neck and covered that spot, feeing the two slight, barely there indents that marked the place where he had offered himself to Jehan all those years ago. Those two indents, the only flaw that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

As twisted and painful as it was, his reflection continued to be the only one he could trust to be honest with him, just as it always had been.

Just as it always would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Montparnasse has a Dorian Gray type of deal going on, but instead of a painting, his soul is reflected back to him in a mirror (which is so much more terrifying than a mere portrait).
> 
> Claquesous is a succubus/incubus; I read that in some cultures, the demon can change sexes depending on its partner. I chose to go that route with it, but he prefers the incubus form.
> 
> Huge thanks to enjoliras.tumblr.com for beta reading and helping to create this series with me!
> 
> You can find me over at aeolians.tumblr.com, which is my writing tumblr.


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